Domesticity is Not an Art Form
by Esrafil
Summary: McShep AU John and Rodney receive a house warming present; Rodney is not impressed by kitchen gadgets.


Title: Domesticity is Not an Art Form  
Author: Chiasmus  
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Do not own nor claim to own.

--

John came home to find Rodney with an orange box cutter in one hand, bent over a large box situated on the coffee table. There were three others on the living room floor and scattered pieces of tissue paper. It didn't look like he had been at it very long, just enough time to dismember the tops of the boxes, cardboard flaps askew. He looked up when he heard the door close and waved a spatula he had just picked up at John. "What the hell was Jeannie thinking?"

He toed off his shoes then locked and bolted the door. On the back of the couch was a brightly colored card with some balloons on it and two stick figures with wide smiles, holding hands. He assumed the last to be an addition from Madison and wasn't surprised when he flipped open the card to see it signed by not only Rodney's sister, but most of their other friends as well. "It's called a housewarming present, Rodney. You know, to help us feel more welcome in our new home."

Rodney rolled his eyes and dropped the spatula back into the box, trading it for a blender. "Oh yes, because me moving across town to Chelsea and you moving two floors up is such a drastic change. However will we cope."

Before Rodney could start gesturing John grabbed the blender from him and moved to place it on the kitchen counter. "Don't be an asshole. It's the thought that counts."

Rodney rolled his eyes, but deflated a little. "It's a waste of money."

John quirked one eyebrow at him. "I've seen your kitchen. She probably thought you could use the help, with the plastic cups and paper plates and all."

That got Rodney to lift his chin defensively. "I was getting along perfectly well."

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "Because Mr. Coffee and three cups for each day of the week is all you need."

Rodney smirked at him, then his brow furrowed as he pulled out a cheese grater and examined it critically. "Exactly."

John grabbed it from him when it looked like he was about to toss it onto a pile in the armchair that already had an apple corer, a colander can, and some Tupperware in it. He picked them up and moved them to the kitchen before the living room could escalate into a battlefield of cookware. "C'mon, I think what your sister did is sweet."

There was more rustling as John ripped off plastic and cardboard packaging as he began putting things away. "You would. What is this even for?"

He looked over his shoulder. "I think the technical term for it is a melon baller."

"Who the hell would want to have balls of melon?" Before John could do more than waggle his eyebrows suggestively Rodney cut him off. "Don't answer that."

John grinned crookedly at him as he started in on one of the boxes that as of yet had not fallen victim to the brunt of Rodney's assault. He pulled out a set of plate chargers and some place mats. "It'll help us get ready for all those fancy cocktail parties."

Rodney was too distracted trying to pull apart what John assumed to be a can opener to even take the joke. "Caterers were invented for a reason," he dismissed absently.

"_Rod_ney..."

The can opener was tucked under one arm and Rodney stacked two boxes of utensils on the floor, then picked up a wide two-headed hammer with slits on both sides. "All right, all right. I _get_ it. But really, you cannot tell me you find having a slicer _just_ for tomatoes to be at all practical."

John had wondered what that thing was for. Rather than admit Rodney had a point - he'd never hear the end of it if he did - he moved a stack of newspaper wrapped plates and stumbled across something Rodney would actually be fond of. "Look what I found."

"What is it now, a plated gold ice cream -- oh my God."

It was the high end Technivorm coffee maker, the one that Rodney had claimed to be the "other Holy Grail". Between New York rent, college loans, and the instability of the art world it was too impractical to justify, but the few times Rodney mentioned it his voice had been filled with reverence and longing. John didn't bother to hide how smug he felt. "You still think this was a waste?"

Rodney gazed at the box the same way he had looked at the painted acrylic canopic jars John had acquired off a peddler in Cairo when they turned out to be legitimate, practically drooling and eyes alight. "I love my sister."


End file.
